


Heir To The Clown.

by BunnyJess



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham Knight Genesis (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: (it's got Jason in it what did you expect?), (not caused by the main characters), Angst, Animals, Arkham Knight AU, Birthday Celebrations, Birthday Presents, Blood, Chosen Siblings, Consequences, Death, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Gore, Graphic Torture, Gun Violence, Jason isn't the one to die, Jewellery, Judgemental Characters, Manipulation, Murder, Other, Revenge, Royalty, Swearing, Theft, Training, Underage Drinking, child endangerment, chosen brothers, circus trips, don't mess with Joker and Harley's kid, don't upset him, good dad Slade wilson, gymnastic Jason, illegal drug use, minor mention of abuse to animals, oh damn, or are we?, rebirthday, very drugged up character, very drunk character, we're all mad here...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-11-01 13:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyJess/pseuds/BunnyJess
Summary: What would happen to the world, to Gotham, if the Clown Prince of Crime and his Jester came across a certain street kid before he was even a blip on the Bat's radar?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Belfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belfire/gifts).

> So this is inspired by three Hollywood Undead songs:  
Riot, Fuck The World, and S.C.A.V.A.
> 
> I place all blame on this fic happening on Belfire's fine ass shoulders! You're the best little siblings and I hope you love this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

It started as everything did in Jason’s life, as a crazy fluke that impacted his life without giving him a chance to get informed consent. Harley Quinn had been running from the Bat and the GCPD when she’d tripped over the still form of a boy in an alley. She’d scrabbled behind the bin he’d been mostly hidden by and held her breath. That day the boy saved her from being shipped back to Arkham and destroying her pudding’s plans. He needed her on the outside to get the necessary information to him in the asylum and threaten the employees there.

As the small boy, who looked no more than eight but in actuality was closer to eleven, had saved her from two impossibly severe beatings she felt it was her duty to pay him back. Plus, there would surely be a use for such a small boy in Joker’s plans. Afterall, there were spaces even she couldn’t contort herself into.

It was easy enough to sneak herself and the boy into the abandoned wing of the asylum. It was the Joker’s main base of operations. It was how he managed to fuck shit up in a city as chaotic as Gotham while being behind bars. The Bat never suspected that he was the one running the place. Getting the medical staff to perfect his many range of toxins. The staff giving him free run of the buildings and grounds while maintaining records that showed he was never out of his cell. So if there was one place she should take the boy, to get him properly integrated to their way of life, it would be the original cells deep in the bowels of the old mansion to the east of the island.

Life had never been easy for the Crime Alley resident. His parents had conceived him by accident and only had him in an attempt to pay off debt. They’d spent their years as a ‘family’ beating him down physically and verbally. Ensuring that his fight would be with the system and not with them or their people. Little did they know it would be the perfect platform for Joker to build on.

It took six months of intensive treatment. Waterboarding. Electroshock therapy. Medications. A variety of interventions by (as Joker called them) his esteemed colleges. Harley working her magic with the psychiatric mumbo jumbo. All interspersed with sugary sweet kindness. A warm bath. Clean clothes. Fresh food. The chance to beat on the guards

They broke him down to his raw parts. The openings already partially flayed open due to his rougher than average start in life. Then, with all the meticulous insanity of a microsurgeon, they pieced him back together.

In some ways Jason felt reborn. His first eleven years being killed off by the two people who were the first to show him any kindness. They showered him in gifts; new clothes, any weapon he wanted, food always on hand. They had become the idols his parents always should have been and he planned to pay them back for every ounce of freedom they’d granted him.

Jason Todd was no more.

Jason Napier-Quinzel was born and he was ready to fuck shit up and start a riot. A true child of Daddy Joker and Mama Harley.

~~~

There isn’t much that brings joy to the heart of the seventeen-year-old black haired, blue eyed, heir to the throne outside of the violence and power his parents bestow upon him quite like being in a club at the edge of the Narrows. Warm bodies surrounding him. The bass vibrating down to his bones. Alcohol, and Molly flowing through his blood stream. Xanax in his pocket to knock him out before the horrible come down. His Mama made sure he knows the benefits to always having medications handy. It had been one of the first lessons she’d taught him after her and Daddy took him in.

Jason Napier-Quinzel spent so long searching for an answer to his shit hand in life and never thought he’d find one. Then his Mama found him and her little family with her puddin’ was complete. On the nights he had off; when there were no goons to boss about and no Bats or birds to annoy from afar, he chose to use his allowance to fuck shit up and get higher than a twenty-foot ceiling.

It’s easier to forget. To throw up a middle finger to the world. The police. The capitalist society that just wants to keep him down.

After all, if the world thinks he’s just going to tear shit up, well then, he isn’t going to fight against that. He knows how short his life has the potential to be so might as well embrace it.

He isn’t the youngest or oldest swaying to the beat. Getting sweaty and downing drinks until it feels like they’re drowning. The buzz of the drugs pushing them harder.

Almost every night since his Mama and Daddy gave him some measure of freedom after his fourteenth birthday has found Jason bouncing between the three clubs closest to Amusement Mile while still being far enough away to give his Daddy that bit more territory without the Bats being aware. They don’t ever card or question him. Who wants to get on the bad side of the Clown Prince of Crime by denying his son? They’d all seen the consequences. The public displays Joker and Harley Quinn put on at the Iceberg Lounge when Penguin called their boy unstable. They know their patrons are safer with him in their crowd as Joker won’t risk the loss of his heir, his plan J. It makes business easier if you let him in. Even if Jason is four years below the drinking age.

Jason can see the line as they pull up to the curb. The blue and rusty ’95 Ford Fiesta his Mama got for his ‘bodyguard’ to drive him around in blending into the broken buildings much easier than the purple Jaguar XFRS his family usually travels in. The younger man climbs out of the car, leaving the nameless goon at the wheel, and walks straight up to the bouncer. The black, red, and purple glitter on his bare chest shimmering in the street lights. Perfectly matched to the purple glitter highlighting his cheekbones. Eyes rimmed in black kohl with red matte lipstick to complete his look. Hair a ruffled mess of curls with some of Daddy’s green flowing through it. Black denim jacket thrown over his arm, the outfit is finalised with a pair of lilac skinny jeans and black embroidered Dr Martins. The jeans are tighter and softer than he’d usually wear but perfect for accentuating the best parts of himself for a night where he wants to find someone to de-stress with.

Tall, body covered in solid muscle, and a bald head; Jason is pretty sure Dave has come from the male bouncer cookie cutter. He gives a grin his Daddy would be proud of when Dave waves him in with a slight look of terror, skipping the queue and hearing the protests of those left outside.

Once inside, the club is just as Jason loves it. The slightly sticky floor. Pounding music. Grinding bodies. Alcohol and drugs flowing as free as a river; all at East End prices. Just like the sex workers he recognises hanging around the edge nearest the doors and toilets. The VIP area already being emptied of those patrons that would sooner see Jason locked up than enjoying his night (so about half). He’s well known in the Narrows and Amusement Mile. The criminal equivalent to Gotham’s Princelings; Dick Grayson-Wayne and Tim Drake-Wayne.

Heading straight for the bar, Jason walks around to the curved end that’s empty of patrons. His purple and red wallet instantly catching the eye of one of his favourite bartenders. He’s happily greeted by a bubbly blonde woman in her twenties. A triple measure of top shelf whisky on the rocks being placed in front of him. “Hey Jen, how’s the night been?” His gravelly East End accent now toned down with the lilting madness of his parents.

“It’s been pretty boring until now. You know no one livens up a party quite like you do Sugar.” Jen was a good woman at heart. Living the same as everyone else in the Narrows and just trying to make enough money for her family. If there was one thing Jason could respect, it was how hard people worked for their family. AS such, he’d always tipped her more than necessary. Doing just that by laying a $20 on the bar top. Jen smiled at him. “Honey, for you the first drink is always free. You know that.” She tried to push the money back to him but he just waved her off and made his way further into the club.

It didn’t take long for Jason to spy the first true friend he’d ever had. One he’d made since his rebirth. A tall, well-muscled teen of a similar age to himself with black hair and blue eyes they could almost be considered twins; if it wasn’t for their underworld renown fathers. Grant Wilson was just as generous as always. Slipping Jason a small bag of ecstasy with an one-armed hug, the greeting was one they’d done hundreds of times. Both boys often looking to thoroughly enjoy their night.

Pink pills with a skull design on their surface go down easy with a sip of his drink. His Mama having warned him to never take the tablets with Daddy’s smile etched into the surface. The cool liquid burning and easing the tension he’d been holding in himself for the past week.

With the music blaring and alcohol flowing Jason made his way further into the dance floor. It didn’t take long, once he’d started moving to the beat, for another person to join him. Their warm body flush to his as he gripped their hips and let the drugs send him buzzing. He can just make out Grant climbing onto the stage in his peripheral vision while he locks lips with the person grinding against him.

“I give you the eternal invitation,” Grant’s voice bellows out over the music. Every patron turning to hear his dulcet Californian voice. “Who the fuck here wants to start a riot?” He shouts louder, the crowd getting wilder. Jason knows, looking up at his best friend, that they’re both ride-or-die and will always have the others back.

~~~

At twenty Jason’s world was rocked once again. After nine years of familial bliss his family was torn apart. His Daddy was dead. His Mama in mourning and refusing to see anyone, including her Mini-Jay. His family torn apart by the fucking murderous Bat. The gang were looking to him to get revenge. He knew it couldn’t be an impulsive attempt. A ‘fly by the seat of your pants’ plan would fail against such a monster.

Boarding a plane out of Gotham for Venezuela with Grant made Jason feel like he was abandoning his Mama. However, he knew deep in his heart that it was the right decision. Harley had always told him that he’d been born to bring Gotham to its knees, to burn it all down and show the Bat supporters that heaven is fake.

The pair had avoided the whole Arkham City debacle by playing as victims. Their ‘friends’ sheltering them by design. Grant and Jason had no idea it would lead to them standing at the foot of a pretty grave. Their faces hidden by hoods and scarves. Harley sobbing into his shoulder. All the pain he’s feeling magnified by his broken Mama. He started to plan then and there. The devil could wait for as long as it’d take. Jason was going to burn his kingdom to the ground, destroy the fanatics that dogged his heels, and then kill the man himself.

What none of Gotham knew was that under the Arkham mansion, where Jason Napier-Quinzel was born, the Arkham Knight was born too. At 5’7’’ Jason never got back the height his first life deprived him of. This just added to the fear the Knight grew in the hot and humid training ground. He may have been just above average height if he’d been a woman however, he was built like a tank. Solid muscle with the endurance and speed to back it up.

So far Grant and his father, Slade, were the only ones to touch him during training. Slade had been hired by Joker not long after Jason joined the family. He was to train Jason and then help him enact any aspect of ‘plan J’. A plan that was only to come into effect in the event of Joker’s death; especially if it’s at the hands of the Bat.

For five years they trained. They fought. They struggled. People came and went. Jobs were taken to bolster ranks and test out the squads. The likes of Anarchy were pulled in to liberate funds from those that wouldn’t notice it going missing. In any other life Jason would have had to pay the exorbitant fee that comes attached to Deathstroke. The mercenary had waved his fee under the pretence of having been paid by Joker. Grant and Jason knew that he’d waved it because he wasn’t going to lose Grant; either by his own recklessness, or because he refused to train the closest friend his son had ever had.

There were days where Jason struggled to see through the tears burning his eyes. Mixing with the sweat dripping off his forehead as he worked himself harder. The vantablack pit of grief feeling all consuming. Eventually being sealed into a solid steal box of pure denial.

Until the day news reached them of Harley’s latest beatdown by the Bat. The woman taking just one punch from Daddy’s murderer would have been enough to get Jason singularly focused. The mess of blood, contusions, and fractures she’d been left with sparked a burning red fiery anger that only the Bats death had a chance of extinguishing.

Only his head set at the fiery gates to hell would be sufficient.

Only his deranged little birds being made to feel as Jason does will be enough.

Jason knows what it’s like to be alone. Knows what it means to stand in a room full of people but to be all alone. He’d rarely felt that with Mama, Daddy, or Grant at his side. Now; with Daddy gone, Mama in mourning, but Grant still at his side; the feeling comes back ten times worse. He knows deep in his heart that he’s going to tear into the Bats soul. Defeat him more successfully than even Bane had managed when he’d fractured the fucker’s vertebrae. If there is one lesson he can apply from his Mama in the ending of the Bat it’s all her human physiology lessons.

He’ll wear his Daddy’s version of the Arkham symbol like a white dove on his chest. His three Desert Eagle pistols, each with a different coloured Arkham Knight symbol on them to easily differentiate size, and magazines double checked. Each chambered to cater to a different calibre bullet. Nine .375cal bullets fit in the magazine for the blue gun. Eight .44cal bullets for the one with a red symbol and, finally, the gun with a black logo; fitting in how easily it delivers death; has seven .55cal rounds per magazine. Variety is the spice of life. The perfect way to ensure the victims know they’re already dead. The shining blue and silver of his custom guns an extension of his body and the last thing people will attempt to see through. Jason knows the Bat will attempt to see the person beyond the gun, behind the costume. It’s just his own fault that he’s the reason Jason already feels dead. The fucker is the reason he had to embrace the kiss of death. Daddy was the one to bless his life. Mama, Grant, and him; the few who actually saw him.

Now it’ll be Grant and him, with a militia to back them up, marching into the night. Gotham chocking on the ash of their bad decision. Of letting the Bat take over. Of letting him rule the night. No care given towards the kids of those he incarcerated or killed. A traumatic brain injury, a fractured femur, a Batarang in a person with a clotting disorder, any number of injuries the furry inflicted that led to death. Not once was he held to the standards that Daddy was. For that Jason is pissed. If Daddy was made to continually take a beating from the leather-clad fetishist, then surely someone should have done the same to him by now. Jason knows the truth. Knows who the task falls to.

A man condemned from his first birth.

A man raised up during his second.

A man who can see that the world is filled with liars and only a riot will make them bleed.

~~~

The ‘villains’ of Gotham have always been underestimated. Never seen to be able to work together. Dent and Cobblepot hate each other almost as much as they’d both hated Joker. Still, when the clown had been alive there had been a certain kind of order. Joker had taken the control, the top spot, as soon as he’d climbed out of the acid tank. Any person strong enough to survive that fall and the chemicals that seeped down to their very DNA surely deserved that level of feared respect.

On multiple occasions it had appeared as if the villains were working together. A conclusion the Bat reached each time. Each time he was wrong. They’d been opportunistic. Why pay to cause your own Bat distraction when there was a perfectly good one going on. Dent might be doing an arms deal, so Crane would break into Ace Chemicals. Joker would be needing an escape, his particular brand of _diplomacy_ needed with relatives of the guards, so Harley would flirt with Ivy. Only a few hints of corporations polluting the earth would be necessary to get the botanist to start tearing the building down with vines.

Every time such an incident occurred since he was taken in; Jason had watched how the Arkham family worked together. He saw how they’d all take turns to beat the latest guard to refuse Daddy’s offer. How they’d all taken a turn at him when he’d still been stuck in the shell of his first life. It’s how he knows he is going to win. Why wear the Bat down yourself when you can get them all together and save your energy for the end of the night?

It seemed like an easy decision to Jason. A decision that Grant and Slade agreed with. Even the late arrival of Rose, Slade’s daughter and Grant’s half-sister, who’d shaken the foundations slightly with her attempts at morality; had eventually agreed that it was a solid plan. Especially when Grant pulled her aside and explained just what the Bat had done to his found-brother. A fire like Grant’s burning in her eyes as she prepared to drink in the dread of a city facing the kiss of death.

Grant slid up to his brother’s left side. The only person he considered a brother as Joey was too self-righteous and wanted his family to ‘save their souls’. Not realizing that their souls were safe as they’d be balanced when their time comes. Their surgically cold ability to kill balanced with their willingness to protect those who can’t protect themselves. He’d heard the story from Jason’s first life; of his male DNA donor being apprehended by the Bat and leaving his household without a steady income of drugs and money. He’d witnessed how Jason thrived under his true family, in his second life, and how he’d slip into a depression every time their family was split up; despite having ways to slip into the homes they had under Arkham and in Amusement Mile. “Bro, it’s nearly time. You ready for it all to be over and get your Mama the revenge you both need?” His accent had changed in their five years in Venezuela, his Californian native now interspersed with more of the local eccentricities.

A high, lilting laugh broke from Jason. One that would remind people the world over of his Daddy. “It isn’t revenge, it’s vengeance. I’m gon’ fuck their world and make that furry choke on his ash.”

Slim but firm, a hand landed on his right shoulder. “Daddy is ready for us, it’s time.”

The trio walked through the compound and came to the car lot. Only the sleek black CLS63-AMG Mercedes remained. A car they’d _liberated_ from a drug lord in Chile. Slade was resting against the driver’s door. Four glasses and a bottle of 1937 Glenfiddich Scotch, one of only 61 bottles left worldwide and something Slade owned five bottles of but never shared, sat on the roof.

“Daddy!” Rose exclaimed. “That’s your Scotch, like _yours_ yours.”

“I know Pumpkin; but it’s a special occasion.” Slade wore a warm smile for once. One he only shared with the three people in front of him. One not even Joey had witnessed. He poured out two fingers into each glass. The treacle-bitter chocolate notes held within the eighty-two-year-old filled the hot, dry air. They all raised a glass, the hand-cut crystal sending rainbows through the space around them.

“Before Joker put you in our lives, I thought about joining Ma and Joey. I’d given up hoping for a Dad who might see all my pain and help. Then you came along, all seventy-five pounds of twelve-year-old spite and Joker branded madness. You saw how broken I was, how similar to you I was and made me your brother. It’s ride-or-die for me with you. I saw you losing hope after Mister Jay’s death and I knew I couldn’t just let you die. Which totally would have happened if you’d tried to take on the Bat five years ago.” Grant gave a wry chuckle. Jason had come a long way in five years. He’d gone from a grief filled shell of his brother whose chest was cracked open while his heart withered, to an infinitely improved version of the teenager he’d been before Joker was murdered. Grant had seen that Gotham didn’t have all Jason was needing, especially as his Mama was so consumed by her own grief, and so forced him to leave. “To the upcoming massacre.”

They all clinked their glasses but didn’t take a sip. It was clear Jason wanted to say something too. By the twinkle in his eye Grant had a vague idea as to what it’d be. His suspicion was correct of course. “Ain’t no eternal invitation no more. This time,” Jason gave a stuttering laugh that sent a shiver down Rose’s spine and made her thankful she’d never met the Clown Prince of Crime, “this time, we really are going to fuck shit up and start a riot. Gotham ain’t going to know what hit them.” He clinked his glass a little harder against Grant’s. His brother giving him a beaming smile and huffed laugh in response.

They all downed the smooth, woody and smoky Scotch; glasses thrown across the dirt lot. Climbing into the car felt surreal. Five years of planning was coming together. Five years of waiting; of endless dreams, endless nightmares; of missing his Mama. It was all coming to a head. As the engine roared to life, the AMG tweaks making it louder and more powerful, Jason rested his head back and closed his eyes. He needed all the rest he could get.

It was time to get to work.


	2. Happy Rebirthday!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Young - Hollywood Undead. Once again... Thanks Belfire :D

Footsteps don’t so much stomp down the pavement as splash and skip merrily. Puddles exploding with each bounce. Water dripping down into boots and wetting socks. To anyone casting a passing glance the family of three look like a normal, heterosexual couple and their young son. The boy looking like he’s not even a teenager yet. Looking closer at the family will make you wish you hadn’t. The man’s smile is a little too wide, too unnatural. The woman’s eyes a little too unhinged. The boy looks too old in the soul while being very happy to be in such shitty weather.

It isn’t often Jason finds himself bouncing through the streets of Gotham with his family. _All_ of his family. Sure, Grant is off visiting his mum and brother. _Getting another lecture on morality_, Jason supposes. However, he does have his Daddy with him. A rarity outside of the Asylum they spend half their time calling home.

The fourteen-year-old spent so long searching for a home. Wishing he had a place filled with all the love and understanding he’d read about in books. Gotham had tried to tear all his innocent hope out so he buried it deep. So deep it took Daddy breaking Mama’s heart and using the electric on him more than she recommended to uncover that burning need for family. His Mama had been worried he’d hate them for how they treated him those first few months, but he understands it all. Forgives it all. His Daddy needed to make sure he wasn’t going to kneel at someone else’s feet, at the alter to the Bat. Daddy had worried he’d torn Jason apart too much. That he’d make his Junior, his Baby J, too quiet mentally.

That could never happen. Jason was too filled with hatred at the world and the Bat long before Joker and Harley stumbled into his life. Before they birthed him with truth he’d only been dying among the lies.

Now they skip down the street. Their own little family living in the world of truth so few see in this cesspool of a city. His family and a few of their friends are the ones who really know. Who really see. Who see the children looking like a depressed, drenched parade crowd without the floats. Their eyes filled with a pain that Jason knew before his Mama and Daddy showed him the truth. Showed him an everlasting love that compared to nothing else. The Bat is to blame. “Each of those children,” his Daddy always tells him, “each one is here ‘cause Batsy doesn’t care about them. You do, don’t you my little boy, my Baby J?”

There is only one acceptable answer when his Daddy asks him that. Only one answer that rings with such truth that he feels like he knew it in his first life; even if he didn’t fully accept it. He cares. He cares so fucking much. The kids have all been born into a world that’s already falling apart. No-one to help them. To save them, like his Mama and Daddy had saved him.

He wants his Mama and Daddy to show Gotham what the Bat truly is. To show the stinking, unstable masses who refuse to see people like his Mama when it’d be the best thing for them. S_he’s a psychiatrist, she knows what she’s talkin’ about._ He shouts at anyone who tries to discredit her. Filling their kids up with medications to slow them down. To stop them seeing the truth of Gotham. To _make _them worship the Bat and fight in his war. His bullshit war against nothing but those people without his privilege.

Today is special. Today doesn’t find; Jason practising his marksmanship on their workers, Harley working in secret in the Mile, or Joker unable to see them as he’s in their other home. No, today is a special day. It’s Jason’s proper birthday. The day his Mama and Daddy re-birthed him. The day they finished flushing the lies out of him. The day he could finally see all the love they had for him, the hatred Gotham deserved, and the amount of effort it’d take for them to remake the world. It’s been two years since he was let out of the cell, so his Mama and Daddy are spoiling him.

They’re going to a circus. He doesn’t know how his Daddy did it. He was in the Asylum home until last night. Yet he’d managed to arrange the tickets and the whole day. He vaguely remembers his sperm donor taking him to a circus when it was in town and he’d gotten the tickets from his boss. This one is different. A good different.

It still surprises Jason just how much Joker can manage while in a place that the Bat and GCPD tout as a secure facility for the criminally insane. It shouldn’t. The first time he’d met Daddy had been under the mansion on the island after all. Still; _Daddy is amazing, I hope I’m like him when I’m grown_, he thinks. He knows his Mama already thinks he’ll be better than Daddy, more in everyway that matters. She tells him as much every morning before going off to manage business.

The last circus to come through Gotham had ended in disaster. Disaster that people said was expected when you stopped in a city like Gotham. The little family splashing in puddles and enjoying their time know the truth. The Bat didn’t deem them worth saving when he could use the eventual tragedy to gain a bird. It’s another of those secrets that Daddy told him they had to pretend they didn’t know otherwise it makes them sound as insane as the rest of Gotham.

Laughter bubbles up Jason’s throat. His chest feeling like it’s going to float him away if he doesn’t let it out. A few heads turn their way, the laugh a little too close to the one that precludes sinister green and purple. Plenty of Gotham have heard the news that there is an heir to the Clown Prince. His parents had been clever and left forged pregnancy tests, along with other baby paraphernalia, in a part of the Mile. Batsy has considered the case closed. Telling the pigs that there wasn’t any evidence of a child making it into the crib. Jason was a walking phantom, known only to those who’d met him.

It’s a universal truth that laughter is the best medicine, and Jason quite agrees. The laughter floats free. He gets so sick if it doesn’t come out and he doesn’t want to get sick today. Today is his rebirthday after all.

Hands clad in knitted fingerless gloves splash into a puddle as Jason feels his very being shaking with joy. The laughter not enough to let it out. It takes five cartwheels; three away from his parents and two back to them; to feel steadier. The move one of many his Mama has been teaching him since his rebirth. Each one executed perfectly once he picks them up. It is a different skill to what he was used to but close enough to the parkour he used to use that it’s almost easy.

Harley looks over at her son. Watching as his joy breaks free. The laughter making the ‘J’ branded into his cheek crinkle. The happiness trying to contort it but only managing to highlight their family mark. The three of them all have them. Her Puddin’ has one on his left hip, while hers is on her left butt cheek, all on the same side as her baby boy’s mark on his face. Seeing the utter joy springing out of her son breaks down the memory of her own screaming, crying, fighting when Joker had marked their boy as family. Chips away a little bit more of the memory of his heartbreaking scream that lasted so long it went silent.

Her baby boy looks over at her. His brilliant blue eyes shining with the truthful sanity they’d helped him achieve. “Mama, are there going to be animals there like Bud and Lou?” She hears his voice splinter; he’s sounding just a little more like his Daddy every day and she couldn’t be prouder.

“I don’t think so Punkin.” Harley watches that joy start to fizzle out. Her boys face falling into a sadness it should never contain. Not when Mister J is braving the insanity of Gotham proper to take them all out.

Ever the hero to his family, Joker once again saves their day. “Why don’t we set them free? Anyone they attack shows they’re not happy.” He pushes back his son’s hood. _Always a lover of layers and soft fabrics his boy is_. “We might be able to get you your own pet.”

That blinding, paparazzi worthy smile is back to creasing Jason’s face and stretching his lips. Birthdays are often a time of gifts, not that he’d ever experienced that until getting his Mama and Daddy having only read about it. Now he’s being truly spoilt in a way only heirs to thrones can be. His rebirth was celebrated by him getting his family mark. Last year they’d gotten his ears pierced, five times per ear, then smashed up one of the pretentious jewellery stores down on Founders so he could pick out his own gems. All healed up, this year his ears sparkle almost as bright as the sanity in his eyes. The sanity that Gotham, that the _Bat_, tries to claim is _in_sanity in Mama and Daddy. It’s a brilliant reminder of how long he’s had his home. His very own family.

The circus is just as colourful and blinding as Jason expected. Despite preparing himself, channelling all that anxiety over new things into practicing with Mama’s mallet on a deserter, he still stumbles. His feet catching as his mind tries to expand to accommodate the beauty surrounding him. Lights twinkle from where they’re strung up around the massive red and white tent. Poor quality clowns, clearly nowhere near as talented as Daddy, are trying to entertain the children milling around. Food stalls fill the air with a nauseating mixture of smells. Popcorn. Cotton Candy. Cookies. Deep fried meats. Then there are the sounds of the animals. Roars from lions. Growls from tigers and bears. The quiet thuds of elephant’s feet hitting the wet earth.

If the teenager had his way, he’d live in a big top with his Mama and Daddy. Maybe even Grant. No, definitely Grant living with them too. No one else allowed in unless they were for practicing his knife skills on. It all just feels so right. So homely. Not as much as the labyrinthian space under Arkham Manor is, or the creepy fantasy that makes up the funhouse in the Mile. Still, he knows he could settle here. Could let his being make this a home to never forget.

The animals are still all locked in cages, awaiting the grand performance in a few hours. Except the elephants, who are trying to thud around the small bit of land they’ve been granted. As if that small bit of space is enough for such a beast. They all look too cramped, faces docile and sad. All the fight and life beaten out of them. It strikes a chord with the 4’11’’ teen. It’s the same kind of desperate that Gotham always tries to solve by locking away the truth tellers. Jason can see how the poor things must have no reason to live.

“Daddy I know they’re all too old to come home with us, but can we please let them free? _Please,_ Daddy.” Jason turns those blue eyes on Joker. The joyous wonder replaced by a heart wrenching sadness.

Joker reaches out and ruffles the black curls. “It’s your day my boy; we will do whatever to keep you happy.” There is a softness to his voice that usually shocks their goons when they hear it. Everyone thinks Joker incapable of love. Too narcissistic. It might be true, it might be _another_ of the lies told to Gotham. Either way, the voice has the intended effect. Jason leans into Daddy’s side, his smile coming back as he’s handed the acid that’ll quickly eat through the locks.

Each day he’s given just that little bit more responsibility. Each job a lesson on how to be the Clown Prince. He is the heir after all.

Releasing the animals is easier than it should be. Lions, tigers, elephants, and bears. All running loose. Creating enough mayhem for the family to slip into shadows. To walk amongst the battlefield unfolding around them and slip back into the streets.

It feels almost disappointing that the mayhem is being left behind. Staying isn’t something they can risk though. They don’t belong in the mayhem. It’ll just lead to more hatred and insanity being dished out to Mama and Daddy.

By the time they make it back to the Mile it’s gotten dark. Whispers surround them. The comfort of their home allowing them to be three of only a handful of sane people in the whole city. Perhaps even the world.

The rain has started up again by the time they make it into view of the Funhouse. A gasp of surprise escaping Jason as he takes in all that’s been done. There are balloons, streamers, and bunting hanging off nearly every available rail. A giant banner was across the doors ‘Happy birthday Baby Jay!’ emblazoned in glittery purple and red letters that are easily two foot high.

When the family makes in inside, Jason is just feeling more and more overwhelmed. There is a party set up just for him. Their goons are all milling around, drinks in hand, along with the other Gotham rogues. Each one clearly having been invited so Harley and Joker can show off and celebrate their son. At the back of the room, with a central view of everything, are three thrones of varying sizes and styles. Joker’s one is obvious; an oversized thing with purple and green fabric intermingled with the gold metal of the frame. Harley’s is much smaller, sleek and curvy compared to the brutish imposition of Joker’s own chair, with red and black harlequin fabric and silver metal. Bud and Lou lounging between hers and Jason’s. A clear boundary between who is in charge and who is the second in command. Jason’s throne sits between the two. A mix of purple, red and green fabric cover the plush cushions that are nestled into the frame of silver and gold. It may be smaller than Harley’s, but the meaning is clear to all; Jason is the heir and you do _not_ mess with an heir.

Harley and Jason sit while Joker stands in front of his chair, the raised platform giving him a perfect height advantage over their _guests_. There is a drum beating softly, a damning roll that grows louder and faster as Joker speaks. “Ladies, Gents, and in-between; thank you for coming to this most marvellous of events. You are all privileged in being invited to by baby boy’s special day.” He lets out a high-pitched giggle. The crowd stiffening in undisguised fear. “It is a grand event. Please, bring out the entertainment.”

The drumbeat has reached a full-on anticipatory roll, ending in a deafening bang as three members of Falcone’s family are dragged in front of the stage. They are all people Jason recognises from his first life. People who had attacked him as they thought he worked for the Maroni family. They had beaten and drugged him in ways Jason now found far more painful than anything his Mama or Daddy had done. He had vague memories of telling his Mama about them during one of their early sessions prior to his rebirth. Of how helpless they’d made him feel. Of how much it cemented to him that he hadn’t belonged in that first life despite how strong he was.

“My boy, I wanted to give you some way to try out your presents. Why blow out burning candles when you can,” Joker takes a box off the goon to his left and opens it with a flourish, “you can blow out some brains.” Inside the box, settled safely amongst green velvet were two blue and silver Desert Eagle pistols. Clearly custom as they also had the variant to the Arkham symbol he had been discussing with his Daddy as his symbol.

A giddiness pulls Jason to his feet. A familiar bounce to his steps as he joins his Daddy at his right side. Showing everyone there that he truly is the heir to the Clown Prince of Crime. He lifts one of the pistols, weighing it in his hand in the way Slade taught him too. The heavy, cold metal feels like a medical balm to the final part of him that had fought to survive since his conditioning and rebirth. A part of him that could see no reason to live. It all disappeared as he heard all the hatred and lies the men in front of him had spouted a lifetime ago. How he was useless; worth nothing as Willis hadn’t even been able to sell him, something he’d already known as the man had told him repeatedly. It was something that had been reversed by his Mama and Daddy. He knew his worth now. Knew he was worthy of love, of a home, of being on the right side of the blanket of insanity that coated the city.

The magazine pops out and he notices that they’re fifty calibre bullets, another thing Slade had taught him. The crack it makes as he slams it back in is deafening in the silence that’s fallen over the room. Every person waiting to see what the Clown’s son will do. Jason knows what he’s going to do. Knows what his Daddy would want him to do.

The shots ring; one, two, three. Quick bursts allowing the large destructive force to tear their left legs from their bodies. Embedding in the concrete behind them. All being drowned out by the agonising screams each man is releasing.

Jason laughs, bending over with his hands (one still clutching the pistol) on his bent knees. Laughter shaking his entire body. “Daddy,” he gasps out, giggles breaking through his speech. “Daddy, they’re perfect.” He manages to right himself and throws his arms around his Daddy, thin spindly but strong arms coming up to wrap around his torso. “Can we tie that off Daddy so I can play with them longer?” The goons at the side of the stage, the lower level ones who’ve clearly not been given the night off to enjoy the party, jump into action. Tying tourniquets above the wounds and dragging the men further into the Funhouse towards Jason’s playroom. “Oh yay!” Jason claps his hands, gun now shoved in the back of his jeans, “I got two new guns _and_ three new playmates. Daddy, Mama, you are the BEST!”

Another round of insane laughter fills the room. None of the guests moving as it’s clear Joker and his family aren’t finished with their _show_. “My boy, I have one more gift for you.” Another box is produced. This one smaller but no less bright or velvet.

Taking the box into shaking hands, Jason’s eyes light up in intrigue. The lid is hard to pull open initially, the spring mechanism stiff to keep the contents safe. It eventually gives with a sharp, sudden jolt. Almost as sudden as the thrilled laugh that makes the brand stand out as Jason looks back up at his father.

Inside are multiple sets of diamond earrings, each set a slightly higher karat than the one before. Clearly meant to go up his ears from largest to smallest. That’s not the centre piece though. In the very centre of the box, surrounded by the earrings, is a beautiful platinum necklace with rubies of increasing karat’s down either side leading to a massive purple sapphire and green emerald version of his Arkham Knight symbol. Jason knew he loved to dress in any clothes so long as they were comfortable for him; regardless of the societal construct of gender. To have his Mama and Daddy show their approval in such a way warms his heart and further proves to him that he has found the home he’d always been desperate for.

“Do you like it Punkin? Daddy and I designed it just for you.” Harley had moved out of her chair to stand to Jason’s right side, so he’s flanked by both his parents.

“It’s just so sparkly Mama. Reminds me of you and Daddy’s love.” Jason can’t take his eyes off the brilliant gems. Even when Joker reaches over and plucks it out of the box to secure it around his boy’s neck. The weight is weird, a heaviness Jason isn’t familiar with outside of the self-hatred he’d felt towards himself in his first life.

“It’ll never shine as bright as you do Punkin.” Harley wrapped her arm around Jason’s shoulders, pulling her boy into her side. Her hand reaching up to run over the sapphires and emeralds resting between his collarbones. “You make us so proud baby.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little flashback moment with our baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paradise Lost - Hollywood Undead.

Darkness. Damp, overpowering darkness. Broken only by the fanciful whim of a man and woman who wanted. Wanted…

Chest heaving, arms tied tightly with barbed wire, and pain worse than it’s ever been on the street Jason just wants to beg for death. Just wants his last breath to finally, _finally_, leave him. It had been close to six months and he just wants to give up.

Then again, with the gentle touches. Voices telling him all the lies of Gotham. All the lies he’d been raised on were just that…lies. Clean, fresh, potentially new clothes. Food and water whenever he needs it. Jason isn’t sure if he’s begging for death or dying to become what they want him to become. He already doesn’t want to let down the two people who’ve shown him more love and care than anyone before. He just wants to give in.

Life has been so thankless. Left him to rot. To freeze in the streets. Forgotten and forsaken. No hero to save him. No love or family to care. Nothing.

Until his numb foot tripped a jester.

One of the most fucked up parts of all this, in Jason’s opinion, is that he’d agreed to come with her. Had agreed to subject himself to the cleansing her and Joker would need to put him through. Had agreed to being tied down. To growing stronger and being reborn through anything they put him through.

All because she’d run her fingers through his hair and held him close. All because she didn’t turn her nose up at him. At the dirty and stink that clings to him like an infant clings to its mother. At the hand life had dealt him. No; all she’d seen, done, was see the potential in him.

The past needed to be broken. He needed to be broken so that the clown could make him. Could build him up with truth, love, and acceptance.

His whole life had been nothing. No trust. No love. No safety. A windowless cell under Arkham Mansion was nothing when compared to the cupboard Willis would shove him in while screaming about how useless he was. How he hadn’t even been able to sell him when he was born. How he’s just getting in the way of Cathy earning the family money.

Head lulling, body feeling limp. “Fuck man. I,” Jason took a shuddering breath trying to hold back the tidal wave of tears. “I can’t. I can’t take anymore. Please, please Daddy, please.” It’s the first time he’s called the Joker anything other than Joker or Mister Jay. If it had been during the first two weeks of the bipolar hospitality, then Jason knows the term would have made him retch. Now though it just feels right.

The clown isn’t doing anything nasty to him. No torture. No electroshock therapy. Not even letting the guards or other guests take turns beating on him; never more than beating or cutting him up, he said he wants his boy to be a virgin when he’s reborn.

No, all the clown is doing to him is running his fingers through Jason’s freshly washed hair. Harley had been down earlier to take him up to the hydrotherapy baths. The hot water soothing his many aches, while the sweet-scented bubbles worked to clean away his latest layer of dried blood and general dirt. Harley even used a washcloth to help him as he was exhausted before moving on to washing and combing his hair. The clean clothes he’d been gifted after; a soft red hoody that was thicker and newer than any coat Jason’s biological parents had ever given him, a green long-sleeved t-shirt that was just tight enough to be a comfort while being loose enough to not feel constricting, and, grey sweatpants that she’d personalised with purple and green harlequin patches down the outside of both legs. They weren’t the best part of the outfit. For Jason, the best parts of the outfit were; the new boxers he was now wearing under the clothes, the thick and fluffy socks, and, the tan Timberland boots in the perfect size

With any knots or tangles brushed out of his raven curls, and the conditioner Harley had left in his hair for over half an hour, his hair was ridiculously soft. Joker hadn’t expected to ever see his boy with hair so shiny or clean when his Harley had first found him. He couldn’t resist running his spindly white fingers through the locks, feeling the curls try to tangle around them. Then his boy whimpered out a broken plea. A broken plea to not hurt him anymore. Joker wasn’t going to stop. He didn’t _really_ want to stop. Then he’d called him Daddy and the boy fell firmly into place in his grand scheme. He had a baby boy, an heir. He knew he could only hurt this boy one more time. One more time to make him truly a part of the family.

“Oh Bolesie, my man, can you please go find my lady love? Today is the day.” It’s phrased like a request, but everyone knows the Joker doesn’t make requests.

Frank gives a small bow, disgusting respect dripping from every pore. Jason has gotten to know the relationship between <strike>Joker</strike> Daddy since being here and knows that he hates the guard. He hates how the man has tried to use him to rule over the other guards. Resulting in his being demoted within Joker’s organisation from the guard he uses to help run the asylum to the one he uses to locate <strike>Harley</strike> Mama. Frank isn’t even allowed to join in on hitting him, a privilege only given to those who’ve still got that fear of the punchline. “Of course, Mister Joker, Sir.” The man’s voice makes Jason cringe. The tone one he remembers from before. From the father he used to have. A father who never treated him as kindly as <strike>Joker</strike> Daddy does.

Joker uses his other hand to tilt up Jason’s face, letting their eyes meet. “Only one more thing my baby. It’s the last part of your cleansing and rebirth. Your Mama and I both have one, so you need one too.” His voice is honey sweet, tapering off into a giggle as he takes in the sparkle that’s grown in <strike>the</strike> his boy’s eyes over the past half year. It’s been a long road but worth every ounce of pain he’s had to inflict to get here. _Always easier to inflict pain when the end results are this perfect_.

As they continue to lock gazes Jason starts to feel lost in the clear sanity he sees in those eyes. “Okay Daddy. You know best.” His voice is hoarse; but he can see the love, he _knows_ it’s love after all these months, shining back at him. “Saved me. You. Mama.” He took a shuddering gasp and flicked his tongue out to dampen his lips. There was a residual fear over what exactly Daddy had left to do to him. It was trying to dry out his mouth and make his hands shake. Nothing he couldn’t control. “Was weak. You took me. Saved me. Hehe, Thank you Daddy.”

The giggles Jason kept letting out were music to Joker’s ears. This boy really was now _his_ boy, his heir. A plan J is just what he was looking for with Batsy out there constantly hunting him for being one of the few sane people in the city.

Harley bounced into the room, her skirts fluffing around her with every step. “Puddin’ is it true wat Frankie said? Are we markin’ him like us?” She flounced around the clown and over to her boy. She knows it has taken until today for Joker to admit that Jason is theirs. Same as it’s taken Jason this long to flush away the hatred Gotham tried to instil in him towards them as see them as his rightful parents. There is a chance that the final act will break him, will make him hate them, but it is a risk they _have_ to take.

“Would I have said it was today if it wasn’t?” Joker snapped at Harley. Pushing her away from their boy. She had to set up the floor. It was a messy experience becoming a member of their family after all.

The clown’s maiden got to work. Incontinence sheets were spread out over the floor and on top of one of the two mattresses Harvey Dent used in his cell which Harley had gotten the guards to drag down after her. She also set up two buckets of hot water and a first aid kit along with multiple pain, sedative, and psychiatric medications.

Once it was all set up Joker released his boy and led him over to Harley. Handing him over so he could warm up the final part of the rebirth. The iron already being torched by two goons.

With the lack of energy her baby boy was suffering from it was easy enough for Harley to strip him from the waist down. She didn’t want him to make a mess and assumed Joker would place the mark in a similar place to both of theirs. She got him settled onto the mattress, ensuring he was sat up by sitting behind him and holding him to her chest. She felt like she was in a birthing position causing her to giggle at just how right it felt.

Jason started to sniffle. A shockwave of fear shooting through him as the smell of heating metal filled the room. “Shush Punkin. Daddy is going to mark you as ours so you can never get lost.” Harley tried to soothe him. His stifled tears breaking her heart. “Mama has you, Mama will always take care of her baby boy.” She started to softly sing ‘Hush Little Baby’ and rocked him gently from side to side.

The calming atmosphere was broken by Joker’s maniacal laugh as he sauntered over. Branding iron swinging through the air. The ‘J’ glowing from white to orange. He couched on the mattress in front of his family and tilted Jason’s face up so he could get a good look at his boy. “This will sting a touch Junior.”

Before Harley or Jason could react, Joker pressed the brand to Jason’s left cheek. A scream high and loud enough to wake the dead tore from his throat as the tears he’d been holding back all day finally fell. He felt like the burning pain was what he deserved. He’d allowed his past life to fill him up with insanity and hatred. An insanity and hatred that Daddy had had to take months to clean out of him. It was all over now. The pain was the start of something new.

The clown pulled the brand away from the smoking flesh. The scent of burnt, melted flesh and blood clogging the air in the small cell. Mixing in with the smell of urine after Jason’s involuntary loss of control. It was a pain both Joker and Harley remembered. That sizzling pain that was an end to all their hurt, all their previous pain, and making them into something that was unrecognisable to who they’d been.

“Why did you do it on his face Mister Jay? He don’t deserve that!” Harley shrieked as the screaming lost any sound. Her boy had collapsed into her arms. Unconsciousness pulling him away. “Ya could have really messed him up.” She turned her face into Jason’s sweat dampened curls, voice no more than a whisper. “Don’t worry Punkin. Mama is gone take care of her baby.” She peppered the curls with soft kisses and held him tighter.

“It was the only place to put it for my heir. He will be what we need. What this city needs. My perfect little plan J. Our family’s little knight.” He ran a hand down the left side of Jason’s face, stopping to run his thumb over the blackened mark. A sense of joyous pride warming his blackened heart. “Take him home, our other home, and care for him Harley. Don’t undo any of the work I have put in. It’s been such a chore getting him to this point. You’ll regret it if you do.” The dark threat was unmistakeable, and Harley pulled Jason a little tighter to her chest. She wouldn’t let either of her boys down. Ever. She couldn’t live with herself if she did.

Over the next two weeks Harley cared for Jason as if he was a true new-born, not an almost thirteen-year-old. She kept him sedated for most of that time. Only lessening it to get food into him. The joy of having a hospital as a second home meant that they had unlimited access to any potential supplies they could need. Including the controlled drugs that were cleaner than any of the equivalent she could have gotten her boy from the streets.

For fourteen days Harley bathed her boy in his bed. Dressed him in the softest pyjamas she could find. Brushed his hair and teeth. Fed him small helpings of enriched porridge and soup. Sang to him when the nightmares and hallucinations of a truly clear mind scared him. Taking extra care as she knew it was the first time he’d been this sane in both his lives.

When the brand had healed enough to lessen in pain and the risk of infection had cleared, Harley reduced the sedation. Weaning her boy off it over the course of a week. Not wanting to startle him into hurting himself if the pain was too much to bear.

The first thing Jason remembers seeing when he opens his eyes to his new life is his Mama and Daddy standing over him. Both watching him carefully. He can see love and concern. Something he _never_ saw in his first life. For the first time ever he knows he has a home, a family, parents that love him.

As they settle on the either edge of his bed; and isn’t that a novelty, his own bed with a clean mattress and sheets. He realises just what the three of them will be for Gotham. They will be the hearts for the heartless, the thoughts for the thoughtless, and the eyes for the blind. Best of all though; they’ll be the gods for the godless.

Jason Todd was no more.

He was a pathetic, insane wimp who let Gotham walk all over him. Let the Bat make his parents turn to drugs. Let himself be nearly swallowed by the gutter.

No, Jason Todd was worthless. He deserved the fiery, prolonged death he’d gone through. He couldn’t stand who he was. Wading through the blood of those less insane than him, those damned by those in power, as he believed the lie of the Bat protecting Gotham.

Jason Napier-Quinzel had risen like a phoenix.

He was Jay Junior to those in Daddy’s organisation. A tiny powerhouse of epic proportions. Sometimes being more inclined to mutilation than either of his parents. Choosing to draw out a person’s death over weeks just because the squeals of the insane bought him great joy. The blood that’d stain his hands the same colour as his favourite hoody.

Yes, Jay Junior could sing when faced with hurt. Could laugh when the world wanted him to die. Easily choosing to live just to fuck with all he could.

He was a boy with parents who loved him. Parents who just happened to be royalty with a kingdom he would inherit. A kingdom he’d die before giving up. His parents meant too much to him to let them down.

If it came down to it…Jason Napier-Quinzel _would_ kill the Bat to save or avenge his Mama and Daddy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs inspiring this chapter include:  
Gangsta Sexy,  
Comin' In Hot,  
and Levitate. (as with the other chapters these are all by Hollywood Undead)

Usually it’s at a club. Usually music surrounds the pair. Drinks flowing. Drugs dancing through blood streams. Moments of stolen intimacy in bathrooms. Usually all that happens as they’re meeting up for the night.

Tonight isn’t like that. Tonight Grant arrives at the Funhouse. It is his birthday and he doesn’t want to spend it with Adeline or Joey. Or even with Slade doing a job on the other side of the world. No, tonight for his birthday he wants to spend it with his ride-or-die. So, he’d come to the Funhouse.

Harley didn’t hide her surprise when Chuckles had led Grant to the family area. She usually only sees him if they’re out in the city; or that one time her and Mister Jay took the two boys on holiday to Hawaii. Never in their homes. A squeak of happiness at seeing her boy’s best friend filling the air between them.

He found himself with his arms full of excited jester while Bud trotted over to sniff his black and white checkered Vans. She pulls back and appraised his outfit. The teen is clearly dressed up for a night out. Black skinny jeans that cling to his thighs and accentuate all he’s _packing, _studded belt to use as a makeshift weapon. Short-sleeved, white Henley. Black hair gelled into some semblance of order and gold eyeliner to bring out the blue. She knows the eyeliner is her boy’s doing. Grant not being one to stray from gender norms. He looks good. Should easily get some birthday action.

“He’s in his room sweetums. Just knock first, Lou is in there as he needed a bit of love. We’ve not been able to go see Mister Jay in a couple’a weeks. Bats an’ all that.” Her face falls and Grant finds himself wanting to put the smile back. He’s not ashamed to admit she’s a stunning woman and it breaks his heart that the Bats are the reason her and Jason can’t see Joker.

“Thanks Mama H, I’m sure tonight will cheer him up. It’s my birthday.” Her smile turned into her signature grin at his childish excitement.

Grant ran off to find his brother, knocking on the door a little too enthusiastically. As soon as Jason opened his bedroom door Grant swooped in. Picking the smaller teen up and bear-hugging him; his 6’ height coming in handy when Jason was currently 5’4’’. “It’s my birthday, lets go somewhere classy!” Excitement bubbling through him. Head buried in the other’s shoulder, Jason laughed and agreed.

The pre-party starts in his room with Grant lounging on his bed while he gets ready. He pulls out the expensive shite he only drinks when he’s with Daddy’s friends. He plans for them both to be floating in a way that means he’s been chasing the Tallisker scotch with the Patrón. 

Soon enough, Jason was hugging his Mama goodbye. The time for more partying coming an hour and a half later. He’s dressed up more than usual, knowing what classy meant to a Wilson. Green temporary dye mixed in with his hair product to control the curls and make him look closer to his Daddy. Black eyeliner and a gold smoky eyeshadow with his face contoured and his highlighter accentuated with baby pink glitter. He’d even swapped out his standard round diamond earrings for; one pair of asymmetrical heart hoops in rose gold with pink sapphires, one pair that dangled with purple sapphires at the end, and two cuffs covered in diamonds that went from his third piercing all the way up his ear to curve around the top. They were paired with an intricate septum ring that caught the light more than his cheekbones did. He had on a white shirt; buttons undone to just above his navel to show off the magenta, fuchsia, and neon pink glitters dancing across his pecs. It’s tucked into a pair of cerise leather trousers looking like they’re painted on and three-inch-heeled knee-high boots in white leather to finish it off. He grabs his black blazer that he’s added a white, faux fur trim around the collar. Spinning to show his Mama the full affect. It’s quite the statement and one she’s happy to see him so comfortable making. _Gender norms are just another way for them to oppress us. _

Turns out, Grant has already decided on their destination. The Iceberg Lounge lit up and shining like a beacon screaming ‘Batman I’m here, come beat me up!’ They pay the twenty dollar cover charge, followed by the five dollar coat check. Both feeling a little cheated at the obscene cost compared to what they’re used to.

Jason feels it’s all a little over-the-top; _and that’s coming from me,_ he thinks looking down at his outfit; then again it could be because he’s not yet shitfaced. On any other night he’d have to be three sheets to the wind to even step into a place like the Iceberg Lounge. _I’ll do anything for this stupid fucker, anything!_

There are large ice sculptures of Emperor Penguins dotted ‘artfully’ around the room. Umbrellas hang from the ceiling, lights resting inside them to add a dim glow. There is far too much white, silver, and blue around the place. It all feels a little too sterile. Especially for a man who is used to somewhere as colourful as the Funhouse or hectic as the Asylum tunnels. Worst of all the music is clearly rich white people’s attempt at drum and bass. Not quite on point for the sort of music he can hit the dance floor and sing along too. All in all, it just feels _tacky_.

He’s guided over to the bar and thanks his stars that tonight is all on Slade’s dime. His _gift_ to his son; unlike the new custom sword Jason had sent to him earlier in the week. It just means that instead of drinking the cheaper ‘top-shelf’ whiskey and chasing it with even cheaper tequila that screams Narrows club they’re drinking Glenfiddich scotch and Clase Azul Reposado tequila, the proper top-shelf that’d make Slade proud. Especially as their cheapest whiskey is five times the price of the top-shelf one Jen serves him. A blatant show of just where they are.

“What you want to come to a place like this for bro?” Jason almost shouts in Grant’s ear.

Grant slings an arm around his shoulder and points out over the crowd. “I know we get some pretty good tail usually but look around you. Worked out why I wanted to come here yet?”

It’s only then that Jason truly looks at everyone that’s around him. “Damn, bitches look like models and dicks look like Bond! I’m gone get me some grade-A action up in here tonight.” As far as the teen is concerned he’s not disrespecting anyone in the club. His Mama told him you can call a woman a bitch but not a chick. It’s how that shit works, ‘tis disrespectful. He gets a shit eating grin as answer while being steered into the crowd.

It takes them fifteen minutes to be invited up to the VIP area. Blue fabric wristbands being tied around their wrists with VIP stamped on them. Cobblepot’s minion profusely apologising for not recognising Mr Wilson’s son right away. Jason tries to hide the sting he feels but it hurts to be reminded how people as insane as Oswald and the upperclass view his Daddy. How he’s only known around where he normally goes out because his Daddy controls so much of it thanks to the Mile and just wants to keep his boy safe. Safer to remain unknown after all. 

An elbow hits his side and he looks up at Grant, only to notice the other man is looking at a group of women. He heaved a sigh and walks over. It’s how it often goes; people gravitate towards him as he’s inherited his Daddy’s showmanship so he plays wingman for Grant knowing he’ll still end up with whoever he wants. It’s a little unnerving to be expected to put on the same show when it’s some group of yuppies with fake _everything_ and not a personality in sight.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt.” The charm comes easily. ‘It’s all about stage presence and never letting anyone steal your spotlight’ he always remembers Daddy saying during one of his many lessons on how to become the Clown Prince. He gives a sheepish wave, playing to this specific audience knowing they wouldn’t want his usual brand of chatter. “It’s my bro’s birthday,” he flicks a hand at Grant who is leaning against the bar while he waits for the scotch and tequila bottles to go with the free bottle of Dom. Easier to get bottles and not have to constantly run up to the bar. 

“He noticed you as soon as we got here and wondered if you’d save a birthday boy a dance. Can even show you his ID so you know it ain’t a play.” Hook, line, and sinker. He figured they’d take him up on the offer. Grant and he fit the definition of everything their parents warned them against. One of them looks like muscle for hire, the other too ‘confused’.

They let out a round of brain numbing giggles. “Sure, why don’t you both join us?” The busty brunette of the group, the only one Jason is pretty sure is all natural, pats the chair next to her. If he can’t find anyone else, at least he could probably go home with her. He doubts she’d be an alley or toilet stall kind of girl. “I’m Porsche, you are?”

“Jay, pleasure to meet such a beautiful group o’ women tonight.” His voice is like nectar to a bee. Drawing the group in and leaving them wanting, needing, more. He slips an arm around her. His Hugo Boss cologne an added enticement. “Celebrating anything special?” He’d feel ridiculous talking to a woman who is clearly taller than him; if he’d never been reborn. With his second life came a confidence and presence he’d never even dreamed he could achieve.

The night is going fairly smoothly. They’ve been in the club for a couple of hours and Porsche’s hand has crept up his thigh for the first hour. Grant had sat between to blondes, both now leaning into his muscular chest while his hands rested on their hips to hold them tight. Only letting go to pull out a familiar style bag that Jason is quick to snatch up.

For the past hour he’s been kissing the brunette, occasionally moving to nibble or suck on her jaw and neck. Whispering utter filth into her ear. He had been aiming to pick up a guy or just someone with a dick who could pound him. Someone desperate for attention as Porsche is though, is too difficult to turn down. It’s clear she’s usually the one ignored; her entire being radiating to Jason how happy she is to have been chosen.

The night takes a turn once she slides into his lap, Jägerbombs all round as they enjoy their night. Legs either side of his thighs. Kisses turn sloppy and he drops his hands to her arse. Just the sort of arse he loves getting a handful of. Grinding her against him to excite them both. He bites his way to her ear, “want a little more fun? I got something we could share.” He pulls out the small plastic bag, inside are rainbow tablets with dolphins stamped on them. She nods her head so he slips two onto his tongue and pulls her back into a heated kiss. Her tongue swiping the tablet out of his mouth.

It’s then that he feels it. The judgemental stare of someone insane.

The stare of a false hero. 

He’s not sure how he missed the commissioner’s daughter and her group of friends. All people Slade has told them are ‘Titans’, _what the fuck ever that means_. They all look like they’d sooner lock Daddy up than listen to reason. Especially as he knows who she really is. That little Bat Chick who worships the lunatic in the shadows more than her own father.

Most of them are ignoring him. A couple blonde birds, that new Robin who wears a skirt while the other the youngest _Wonder Chick_. There is also a black haired woman who’s laughing with Nightwing that looks like a younger, less pretty, version of Wonder Woman. Donna Troy, supposedly meant to heal and get sane. They’d found that out as Slade had gotten reports of the team fighting a Troia from the future. It’s a little weird seeing two Amazons out, Wonder Woman had been hero to him in his first life. Before Mama and Daddy helped him become whole and sane.

He just managed to smooth out his sneer as he sees who is watching him. Dickwing is engrossed in a conversation with Wally. _Don’t go near that one Punkin, he’s super fast! _His Mama’s voice bounces around his grey matter.

No, out of them all it’s Roy Harper who is watching him. His face a mixture of hatred and longing. Jason thinks he’d get along with the arrowhead, if the archer weren’t insane _or maybe if you were_ his mind helpfully supplies.

“One sec Buttercup.” He cups the back of her neck and guides her off his legs. The top of her bodycon dress now shimmering with glittery residue. His leather trousers aren’t getting too tight, it takes more than feeling up a pretty bitch.

Swiping up his glass, a mixture of scotch and tequila making for an _interesting_ flavour profile but not one he completely hates, Jason saunters over to the group of heroes. Nights when they’re civilians is the only time he’s allowed to play with them. His Mama and Daddy being too scared of losing him to let him play as AK.

The sway to Jason’s hips. His whole body language in general screams of his father, if you’re paying attention. He knows the insane crowd won’t be. They don’t know about him. Don’t know of the heir to the throne. He watches gleefully as Roy’s eyes widen; a pink blush forming across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He’d clearly not been expecting to get caught out.

As he reaches their table the rest of the occupants turn to him. Their attention thrills the showman he’s always desperate to let out. Using a skill his Mama taught him; Jason puts his hands on the table, kicks off and does a perfect front flip over the obscene white wood, coming to land with his thighs either side of Roy’s lap.

The ecstasy is just starting to kick in. The low thrumming buzz that signals good things as the tablet had already started dissolving in his mouth. He brings his glass up to his lips, the tablet finally being swallowed down. “Hiya Red, caught you staring at me and tonight’s lady. Would sooner you do me though.” He feels the gasp go through the man’s chest as his hand rests over his heart.

He tries and fails at stuttering out words. Dick fucking Grayson bounding in to help. “Hey,” caution lacing his tone, “who are you and what just happened?”

Jason leans back on his elbows so he can bend backwards across the table and look at Dick. “Oh Richie aren’t you a cautious bean! I’m Jay and just came over as your boy here has been eyeing me up for the past half hour. _Really_, I said to myself you see, _if you don’t go over there then Grant is just going to want to punch him for making everyone uncomfortable_. Don’t want the birthday boy getting into a throw down now do we?” He giggles, a strangled thing that desperately wants to turn into one like Daddy’s. “Not when he should be getting down with,” he waves a hand as if searching the air, “ain’t got a clue who those bitches are but they’re clearly interested in my bro and I ain’t one to step in.”

Jason reaches out to tap Dick and Barbara on the nose. “Now you two on the other hand, you look like you want to cockblock him. Don’t make me get out my sawed-off; well actually,” he looks down at his outfit and giggles again, “it didn’t fit in this outfit so I’ll just have to cut you.”

“Does anything fit in that outfit?” Kid Flash cuts in. Eyebrow raised as he takes in the full effect of the outfit from top to bottom. His other one joining the first in his hairline when he notices that Roy’s hands have slipped to hold Jason’s hips. “Also, dude! Cheshire?”

Roy tries to push Jason away as guilt now flows off him. Jason giggles again and waves over to Grant, catching his attention. “Granty, you know a Cheshire too don’t you? Friend of your Daddy?” Laughing at the looks of dawning realisation and horror on each false-hero’s face; Jason does a picture perfect backbend, moving into a flip and landing with his feet on the floor. Both moves having been executed without dropping a single millilitre of his drink.

The night swan dives into hell as he saunters off. Dick is up first, hand closing around Jason’s elbow and attempting to turn the smaller man back round. “Honey, I suggest you get yo’ hands offa me.” Jason voice has lost all the teasing it had before. A deadly blankness that often comes from Joker just as he reaches his punchline.

He’s already balled his hand into a fist when Cobblepot waddles out with a handful of security. “You,” he croaks in his fake cockney accent, pointing at the pink glittery teen. Jason knows he isn’t a cockney, he’s seen his birth certificate during the first few months after his rebirth when Mama was attempting to teach him everyone to be wary of. He wasn’t born within hearing distance of the Bow Bells in London; he was born in Gotham’s Bristol district. “I don’t want some insane freak like you in ‘ere. Bad fer business. Get out! Take your group wi’ yah!”

Tears well up in Jason’s eyes and he fights to stop them from falling. He isn’t insane! He _isn’t!! _He knows he isn’t. His Mama would treat him for it otherwise, not just supplying sleeping tablets when he’s desperate. Mama and Daddy treated his insanity.

“No, I’m not.” He met Oswald’s beady little eyes. “No. I’m not.” His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. Voice sounding too close to Daddy’s when he is accused of the same thing. Cold and sharp. Everything the family could be at the drop of a hat.

Cobblepot took a step back, the sanity clear in Jason’s eyes making him scared. Everyone knew what Joker was capable of. Only leaders of the underground knew just how much his boy took after him. Jason was about to close the distance between himself and Oswald, hand ready to grab the knife hidden in his boots, when Grant wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Jay, bro, come on. Let’s go somewhere else, yeah? It’s kinda dead in here. Too many _good samaritans_.” He looked around, sneering at all he saw. “Plus, this fucking décor is giving me a headache. Need to go somewhere that actually knows how to party.” He cast Cobblepot a nasty grin, malice and violence wrapped up in a smile.

Dick reached out again. His fingertips brushing Jason’s arm. Every muscle went tight with tension as he told himself not to let out the big secret Daddy had told him.

Having seen the way Jason had reacted, Barbara grabbed Dick’s hand and tugged him back. “Leave him. We’ll keep an eye on him. There is something familiar about him but I’m not sure what. Either way, he’s friends with Grant so he’ll be worth looking into.” She whispered to her friend and fellow Bat. Oswald was still stood there. Glaring after the pair who had left quickly once Grant got the smaller boy moving again. “Who was that with Grant Wilson Mr Cobblepot?” She asked in her most innocent sounding voice.

“Just Napier’s kid.” The Penguin snapped. Spinning on his heel and limping away. Barbara shrugged at his reply. There were no people of interest with the last name Napier for the GCPD or the Bats.

The two teenage boys made it back to the Narrows easily enough. Your parents running one of the gangs was advantageous when you needed someone to call for a lift. They stumbled through the door of their favourite club and Jason pushed Grant away from him. No longer wanting to be near the teen.

Deathstroke’s son refused to let his friend wallow when they were out celebrating on his dad’s dime. They’d stopped and drawn out a chunk of cash prior to making it back to the Narrows as none of the places there accepted card. He got them a couple of drinks, changing over to the moonshine made by the owners, and wandered over to his friend.

Jason was already dancing in the centre of the crowd. Grinding with a man who Grant thought looked a little too much like Joey. He shoved in between the pair, “mind if I cut in.” It wasn’t a question as he shoved a glass into Jason’s hand and watched as he used it to swallow another couple of pills, ones he didn’t recognise so he’d probably gotten them from one of his trips to see his dad. “Just ignore what Cobblepot said. He’s a freak who hates how much power he’s lost to people like your dad.” He was trying to help but Jason didn’t want to hear it. Plastering on a smile and waving the concern away.

“I’m fine Bro. Ain’t no thing. Now let’s party!” He shouted the last sentence. The music changing to Grant’s favourite song.

The hours fell away and dawn was soon breaking over the grimy city. Grant had lost Jason an hour ago, figuring he’d disappeared to _enjoy_ himself. Now, he was stuck searching around for him to drag his arse back home. It wouldn’t do to leave his bro after such a rough night. Oswald’s words had clearly affected him but his friend didn’t want to mess up his birthday. It was one of the ways that showed Grant that Jason took after his Mama as much as his dad.

A bouncer stumbled over to the mercenary’s eldest son, Jason draped against his side and clearly on the verge of either vomiting or passing out. Potentially both. Neither of which had actually happened on one of their nights out before. He took Jason’s weight and piled them into the waiting Ford Fiesta.

In the light of the street lamps Grant looked his friend over. There was white power around his nose. His breath stank of a combination of cigarettes and alcohol, an underlying muskiness that is all too familiar to a teenaged boy lingering too. There was tiny flecks of weed stuck to the glitter on his chest, his glitter hold gel clearly working very well once the excess had worn off, so he added that to the growing list of substances coursing through the Joker’s son. If the teen died due to going too hard on a night out with him, he knew the Joker _and_ Harley would come for his head.

Grant had seen his friend in many states since they’d met. He’d seen him bloody and bruised after intense training sessions. High on endorphins after fun in his play room. Crushing hard when the black cloud got too severe. Sobbing his heart out when Joker ended up in Arkham’s medical wing after an encounter with Batman. Flashing a smile that’s paparazzi worthy. Disheveled the morning after when he’d gone to pick him up.

In all that time Grant had _never_ seen his friend this bad. Drunk as fuck. High enough to make Kite Man jealous. Sweat dripping off him. Mumbling nonsense that’s clearly the drugs talking, or maybe the shots. He’s got tear tracks on his face. A trace of potential love bites on his neck. All in all, Jason looks wrecked.

Getting back to the Mile takes far too long in Grant’s opinion. Rush hour in Gotham always stupidly busy due to the large population and narrow streets. A wave of relief washing over him once the broken Ferris wheel finally comes into view. The panic not abating as Jason had passed out not long after they’d gotten in the car.

“Harley!” Grant bellows through the house as he steps in the front door. “I need some help!”

The pale woman comes running. Face devoid of her usual cheekiness. Grant watches as her face loses the little colour it had, a feat he didn’t think was possible. “Jay? Baby?” She is scooping her son out of his arms. The weight leaving them finally pulling him from his trance.

It isn’t until they’re in Jason’s room. Harley washing away the glitter and makeup so she can change him into pyjamas, that she finally speaks again. “What happened?” Her voice is hard. Memories coming back of when they’d first gotten their boy. How often she’d washed and clothed him in the early days of his detox from Gotham’s insanity.

Nervous about facing her and Joker’s wrath, Grant rubs at the back of his neck. “We were at the Iceberg Lounge, typical night out shit just more flashy and expensive. Something happened, not sure what, but it caused Jay to go over to a group of people who turned out to be Nightwing and his mates. I’m guessing they didn’t agree with us taking drugs or something.” He shrugs. Unused to feeling so useless, so helpless. “You know what he’s like, takes after his dad for putting on a show. Anyway, Cobblepot ended up coming over and called him insane. It was like a switch flicked in his head.”

Harley stilled her ministrations. Blankets half pulled up over her son’s body. “That bird called _my _son insane?” Grant backed up a step. Sure his father was the world’s best mercenary but he wasn’t the scariest person out there. He’d originally thought it was the Clown prince himself, now he realises it is his lady instead. A fierce anger and protectiveness shining from her. “You stay here with him. I’ve got a man to see about an aviary.” Leaning down, Harley pressed a kiss to Jason’s forehead. Fingers running through the ruined curls. “Don’t worry baby, Mama and Daddy will sort it.”

Sneaking onto the island that housed the Asylum was as easy as ever. Nothing changing despite the number of times the GCPD claimed her puddin’ had escaped. She’d quickly changed out of her white fluffy skirt and blouse combo. Choosing instead a red and black leather outfit that consisted of trousers. Easier to work in when that work was guaranteed to be less than pleasant.

Frank Boles was in his usual guard station. Ensuring that the cameras caught enough of Joker to fool the _authorities_. She took solace in watching him startle, a squeak leaving him, as she cleared her throat.

“Miss Quinn, m’lady.” He gave a bow and Harley rolled her eyes. Why Mister Jay kept him around she had no idea. He was such a snivelling weasel.

“Get Mister Jay for me. I’ll be in the conference room.” She marched off. Heels clicking on the stone floor.

The conference room was an office space they’d commandeered on the floor above the cells in the intensive treatment wing. Rickety old desks had been shoved together and creaky chairs were dotted about. Never enough for when Joker called together each leader in Gotham, but plenty for what she was there for.

Whistling pulls Harley out of her spiralling thoughts. Joker bouncing into the room as happy as a clam. Until he takes in Harley’s demeanour. Then it’s like a switch is flipped. He slams the door in Frank’s face and stalks over to a chair. “What happened?” Is all he growls out. He knows something bad must have happened to pull her here in the early hours of the morning. She’d never been an early riser since she lost her insanity.

“Penguin upset our boy. He’s currently at home. Drugged up to his eyeballs and probably drank as much too.” No laughter or joy is bouncing between the couple. No tennis match of happiness and twisted love. Only the burning anger of two parents talking about their hurt child. “Grant said that Ozzie called him insane. As insane as his father if I’m remembering rightly.”

“My boy is _not_ insane. How dare that overgrown bird say such a thing!” Joker perches on the edge of his seat. Hands steepled in front of his face with his elbows lightly resting on the desk. “No, no, no, this will not stand.”

“Puddin’ if walls ain’t rainin’ blood then we ain’t done right by him.” She takes a hiccuping breath. The image of her poorly boy looking so frail and small in his bed burned onto the inside of her eyelids.

The usually grinning red smile turns into a malicious sneer. “We’ve only ever done right by Junior. We won’t start letting him down now.”

It’s in moment like this. Moments where her and Joker are planning something with low impact to the majority of Gotham, that Harley is reminded of the masterful tactician hidden behind the Clown persona. He’s not going for chaos. Not attempting to show people the truth. No; he’s just wanting to have the biggest impact on one person. The plan takes so long to come up with that they end up leaving the Asylum. Harley anxious to get home to check on Jason and Joker wanting to see his heir was alright. 

The Funhouse is quiet when the two return. All the lights off except for the small bedside lamp in their son’s room. Grant is sat beside the bed, the large armchair that Jason usually sits by the window to read or practice is guitar in pulled over to the bedside. He looks up at them as the door creaks open. Gun already unholstered and pointed at them. Just in case anyone got past the numerous guards floating around outside.

Harley walks straight over to her boy and runs her fingers through his hair. Flopping down to sit on the bed by his hip. At a more sedate pace, brain still locked in planning mode, Joker comes to stand at her side.

As he looks over his boy, Joker only has one thought. _Harley downplayed just how bad our boy was doing_. His breathing is lower than it’d ever been during his sedative induced sleep during his cleansing. Skin pale and clearly clammy, his freckles standing out and the brand looking sore. It’s not looked that obvious in years.

Nearly, very nearly, Joker crumples to his knees. His boy isn’t waking for any of the pleas offered up by his Mama. Grant looking lost as he watches over his best friend. Meanwhile, Joker just continues to look down at him and amend the level of impact he wants to have on Cobblepot.

Ensuring that Grant is absorbed in his vigil over his son, Joker grabs Harley’s arm in a white-knuckled grip and drags her out of the room. “He looks positively dreadful. How could you let that, that, that,” he backhanded Harley. “You stupid woman! Look what happens to _my_ boy when I leave him in _your_ care!”

She held still. Body trembling with the sorrow she was feeling for her son. “I tried. Puddin’ I promise. I look after him so good. How was I supposed to know Ozzie was going to upset him?” Joker gave an almighty cackle and went to hit her again. Until he remembered a certain flightless birdy needed to be taught a lesson.

All of Gotham thinks that the Clown Prince of Crime will go off at any second when he gets free. That he is a cocked, loaded gun ready to fire; just waiting for the right moment. That he is twisted up in a one-sided love affair with their caped crusader. Only a few people know the truth about him. He meticulously plans his heists and productions. Wanting to ensure that everyone got the joke, got to see the full reveal. All in an attempt to cure them like a bolt of lightening to the temple. He didn’t have time for the scale of plan he wants. It’ll have to be a bit of good old-fashioned shock-and-awe, Joker style.

Twelve hours later and his boy still hadn’t woken. He hadn’t even twitched in his sleep. If there was one thing that could be counted on it was how much Junior would twitch in his sleep. He would fidget so much that he could worm his way out of bed and end up knotted in his blankets. It was why he’d insisted on his boy having such a large bed that _had_ to be set against the wall. He was to start the night against said wall in an often vein attempt to prevent him worming out of bed. Wouldn’t do for his heir to hurt himself in such a mundane way. They had the money for such a bed. They were fucking rolling in the stuff with their multiple side businesses of dealing in arms and general terror.

Plus, on occasion, he would be paid to cause mayhem in other places apart from Gotham. Jobs he always sent his heir on now-a-days. A simple way to ensure his own heart kept beating.

Harley was beside herself. Completely useless in helping with _any_ aspect of the planning. If his little Jay didn’t pull his finger out and wake up from all this nonsense then he’d have to do all the work. Something he wasn’t used to doing since his boy cleared the fog of Gotham from his mind.

A groan made Grant nearly fall from his chair. Shame burning his cheeks as he realised it was Jason waking up. Something that shouldn’t have made him jump and would have caused his dad’s anger to lash out at him.

“Tha’ fucker.” Voice groggy and worn from all he’d done on Grant’s birthday. It didn’t surprise the mercenary’s son that his best friend’s first words upon waking were about Penguin. Jason pushed himself up in the bed, hand rubbing at his eyes. He caught sight of Grant and shot him a puzzled look.

“Your Ma and Dad wouldn’t let me leave; plus I didn’t really want to. Wanted to make sure you woke up. You proper scared me.” Jason gave a chuckle causing a shiver to run down Grant’s spine. There were many things he could handle about his best friend and his family, the laughter that he’d inherited from Joker was not one of them. “Oh fuck you! You scared the shit out of me! You know you aren’t by yourself, right? You got me, Jay, and Harls. They’re planning the revenge on Oswald as we speak.”

“You say that but is that truth or lies? I can’t always tell. Can’t deny that it’d be easy for everyone if you’d just left me behind.” Jason avoided his brother’s gaze. Swinging his legs out of bed and feeling the cold floor under his burning feet. A familiar jolt that always made him feel more awake.

Grant pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a conversation they’d had time and time again. He was pretty sure that Jason would always be convinced that Joker and Harley were the _only_ people who would never leave him. Would never betray him or turn their back on him. For some reason there was a part of Jason’s brain that was unable to be reassured that Grant could be included in that short list. He’d tried countless ways; words and gestures abound; nothing ever worked. Especially on days after Jason went hard on a night out. The drink and drugs mixing up in a way to push that small part to the forefront of his mind.

Not waiting for an answer, Jason pushed off the bed and walked out of his room. He could hear Daddy fuming at Mama. That wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t do at all.

Unless Mama did something wrong.

Well, it was clear he’d been out for longer than ever. Plus, there was that whole mess with Oswald she’d not protected him from.

Maybe…

Maybe she did deserve it.

Daddy only ever lost his temper when it was reasonable.

No-one had as much control over their emotions and responses like Daddy. Even he didn’t. Daddy had warned him about his lack of ability to respond to situations appropriately multiple times. Wouldn’t surprise him if he was in for some of Daddy’s wrath. He’d acted stupid. Stupid.

Stupid and irresponsible.

Put the whole family at risk. What good would it do for Daddy’s heir to get killed or worse, found out? Daddy would have to cleanse another kid. They wouldn’t be anywhere near as good as he was, Daddy had told him so. Daddy also couldn’t take another six months off work to cleanse another kid. He was special. Daddy had spoilt him. Letting him take six months with his detox and healing.

The floorboards creaked under Jason’s feet as he walked into the centre ring. Sofa’s placed around a coffee table with bookshelves on one wall without a door and carnival games lining the other. The centre ring was what insane people called their living room. Ha! As if they lived in theirs. They didn’t have games and groups of people to play them with. There were only two places Jason loved more than the centre ring in the Funhouse. The first was his playroom, what child didn’t want their own playroom. The second was Mama and Daddy’s bed. He could crawl in with them and curl up for lazy mornings after working most of the night. The safety and security they provided unlike any he’d ever had.

Daddy whipped around to face him making Jason freeze in his tracks. He kept his gaze down as he felt his eyes starting to tear up. He knew he deserved to be hit. Deserved anything Daddy did to him. He’d let him down and made him leave the asylum earlier than planned. “My boy,” Joker’s tone changed on the flip of a dime. His venomous tone changing to one of joy. “My beautiful baby. How are you feeling? Better, I hope. Daddy needs your help with this Ozzie mess. He said some very hurtful words to my boy, and you can be sure _Daddy_ won’t let anyone upset you.” Neither man noticed the full body flinch Harley gave at his words.

“I’m so sorry Daddy. I’m so, so sor-” Jason felt like there was a massive lump in his throat. The words not getting past it. He just wanted to say he was sorry. Daddy _must_ know how sorry he was. He fought to swallow, Joker catching sight of the movement and moving closer. Pulling his boy into his arms and holding him tight. Spindly, white fingers running through the greasy black and green curls.

Taking a few heaving gulps once he got himself under control. Traitorous tears staining his cheeks. Jason met his Daddy’s lime green eyes. “I love you Daddy. His words felt like, I felt like.” He took another deep breath trying to calm the storm getting stronger every time he remembered just what Cobblepot had said. “It felt like he was trying to bring back the disease you spent so many precious hours curing me from.” He pushed back into Joker’s embrace; head nestled into the man’s chest. “Daddy, it felt like he was trying to dig it in deep. Callin’ me insane. I’m not insane, am I Daddy. You cured me of that.”

Joker hushed his boy. Rocking from side to side. It wouldn’t do for his boy to slip back after such a long time. “That I did. You’re my boy, my heir. What else are you baby boy?” Saccharine sweet he coaxed his boy to look at him again.

A blush spread across Jason’s cheeks at the love and pride in Daddy’s smile. “Your little plan Jay.” Both giggled, the sounds similar in everything but pitch.

Now Jason is awake and reassured, it’s time to get to work.

With the right palms greased it’s easy enough to find out when Cobblepot has a delivery coming into the docks that he wants most of his lieutenants for. Two nights after Jason wakes, he and Daddy wait in the Range Rover while a couple of their goons survey the situation. No point putting themselves into the path of the bullet.

The element of surprise and a spectacular entrance are all part of the act. Never let your audience drift. Keep them on their toes and leave them wanting more. Easy lessons for Jason to learn and ones he’ll always use.

“Well, well, well; what do we have here boys?” Joker’s voice freezes Cobblepot’s workers in their tracks. His voice so recognisable for the prelude to mayhem that it is. “Seems Penguin thought he could upset someone dear to me and still carry on with business.” He walked through his people, Clown makeup covering their faces in pale imitations of him and his heir. “That just won’t do. Get ‘em; but only my boy and I can harm them.”

The promise of being unharmed until Joker or Jason get their hands on them makes the goons try to fight back. Everyone knows you don’t walk away from Joker. No one expecting him to have let just that happen to his son. If he gets you for torture then you’re as good as dead. There are a few muffled protests as bags are shoved over their heads and they’re bundled into the waiting van. Five bulky men and women all hogtied and unconscious.

Each of the five come around at different times. The firsts screams waking the others slowly. As they look around the colour drains from their faces.

The room they’re in is a forest green. Shelves line one wall while there are two metal medical trolleys set either side of the two men standing front and centre. Their captives are chained up to the wall. Four slumped on their knees; the first to wake is in a star, large nails going through his hands and feet into the blocks of wood under the chains keeping them in place. There is enough slack on each chain for their captives to squirm and try to flinch away from their assault.

Nothing better in this world than watching someone beg to die.

Joker clicks his tongue as the first to wake, a smaller man than the other four people, registers where they are. Him and Jason move quickly once they’re awake. Chaining him up like a star then stepping back.

“We are not the ones hurting you. This is all on your boss.” Joker’s voice has lost all the humour he’s known for. He’s completely calm. Jason noticing that Daddy is actually radiating an anger the likes of which he’s only seen once before; the time when Harley had let him get shot by one of Riddler’s men instead of jumping in front of the shot, Daddy had been so angry that Harley hadn’t been able to walk without a limp due to a fracture ankle for ages.

“He should know by now that hiding won’t keep him or any of his people safe.” He turned towards Jason, reaching out and running his fingers through his hair “Ozzie said some _very_ hurtful things to my boy. That just won’t stand. Why don’t you start baby?”

Jason picked up a large nail, ones usually used for railway sleepers, and a small hammer that was like a mini sledge hammer. His walk was the same swagger that Joker always had. The sway of his hips and cocksure attitude pulling all eyes to him. A true performer.

The screaming and thrashing started as soon as Jason presses the nail to the man’s palm. The point resting so it’ll go between the lunate and capitate carpals. Eventually, when the iron point reaches the widest part the bones will crack then fracture into multiple pieces. The inch wide nail pushing into minimal space making them move or give way.

Blood runs down the man’s hand. Drip, drip, dripping into the wood near his feet. It’s a mesmerising sight and one Jason will never get sick of.

The second hand is harder to get through than the first. The man thrashing harder to get away from the pain already happening and the pain to come.

Jason ignores it all. The rush of playing with Daddy in his favourite room too enticing. It’s been a long time since he’s had five people to play with and even longer since he played with Daddy.

Hands and feet nailed into place, the real fun begins.

A knife slash across the ribs.

Crowbar to the femur until it becomes a beautiful compound fracture. Bone ripping ripping through muscle, tendon, and skin alike.

Hot pokers stabbed into the gut. The smell of burning pork singing the man’s senses.

Blood runs down the walls. Pools on the tiles and splatters over their matching purple suits. _Gotta look your best when playing with Daddy_.

Joker steps back from helping his boy. Enjoying watching the way the younger man carves ‘_ha!_’ into biceps, chest, and face without prejudice. His work exquisite and a perfect showing of what he’s learning under the Clown Prince. _My true heir_.

The final indignity is the oxygen mask that’s held against his gaping mouth. Panting breaths steaming the clear plastic. There is no oxygen to be found filtering through the tube. No, it’s a gas that looks green in high enough concentrations. A gas that brings out the anthem of the Clown Crime family.

Giggles waking the last person still knocked out. A wide grin splitting the skin at his lips as pure hysteria rattled around his brain. One last giggling gasp as his body slumped in its binds. The weight of his body finally pulling his hands further down the nails until the chains pulled taut. A sign of just how hard the man had been fighting for his miserable life.

Jason looked at Daddy. His smile growing as he saw the prideful glee on the other man. “You did so well my boy. Do you like your new toys?” Joker waved an arm indicating the multiple knives laid out on one of the trolleys. “I could just tear up.” He wipes a finger under his eye pretending to wipe away a tear. “You won’t be needing me much longer.”

“Don’t be silly Daddy. I’ll always need you.” He bounced over to Joker’s side and wiggled his arms around the thinner chest. Thankful for his lack of height as it meant he’d always fit under Daddy’s arm. Safe. Secure. Home. _Love_. Everything he’d ever been looking for. “Can we carry on playing Daddy? There are four more of that mean bird’s grunts to make pretty.”

The sinister smile that Joker gave his boy had excitement thrumming through the sixteen-year-old’s veins. Meanwhile, the other four occupants were growing more and more afraid. One almost on the verge of hysteria. “Oh yes, oh yes, but who should we choose? Let’s spin a blade. Where will it stop, nobody knows.” The Clown spun the knife he’d set on the ground. Each captive watching it spin and praying it wouldn’t be them next.

The door opened and Grant appeared. The sight and stench of blood and burning flesh not bothering him anymore. “Jay, Junior, Harls wanted me to give you these and to remind you to eat them. She said you can’t play much longer without eating otherwise she’ll worry.”

Jason dragged his friend further into the room. “Thank you for letting me play with Daddy and keeping Mama company. I know what Pengie said made her sad ‘cause of how much it made me sad.” He threw his bloody arms around Grant’s waist, unable to comfortably reach his shoulders. “You’re the best friend anyone could ask for. I’d ask you to play too but,” he chewed on his lip as he looked up at his brother, “I haven’t gotten to spend this much time with Daddy in _so_ long.”

Grant ruffled Jason’s dark curls and instantly regretted it as his hand came away stained in blood. “No worries. I know this is what you need to do after the other night. I’m actually having fun with Harley.” He left quickly after disengaging from the hug. The sight of the mutilated dead man a little too much now he could also smell the food he’d fetched with him.

Joker glanced over the food and realised how it could be used as another way to torture their _guests_. A simple tactic he’d not used since he’d cleansed his boy. Sitting on the ground, he patted the floor beside him and Jason ran over to comply. Falling gracefully into a crosslegged sit.

The captives watched as Joker and Jason devoured their dinner. The fork-tender roast pork dripping in barbecue sauce. Mashed carrots mixed with thyme and a hint of honey. Crispy wedges that had a light dusting of cheese and spices. Their chef was on top form tonight, clearly trying to impress the boss.

Both men ate sedately. Enjoying the looks of hunger and annoyance on their guests faces. Rumbles coming from a couple of stomachs as Joker waved his fork around while he spoke. Illustrating his point while continuing his son’s education on how to properly deliver a punchline so it never gets old, even if you use the same gag more than once.

When the food was finished the two men left the plates on the floor, just out of range of any of their guests. There was plenty left, enough for one further portion. Harley had clearly told the chef to ‘ensure her growing boys don’t go hungry’. Something she was obsessed with.

It didn’t matter. Bud and Lou would be by later to hoover up any leftovers if the cleaning crew didn’t get to it first.

The knife was pointing at one of the two women they’d grabbed. Her snarling not in the least bit scary.

Honestly, Jason had seen scarier when Mama had found Bud and Lou eating her second favourite mallet.

Torturing a woman was no different to torturing a man. Another of the lessons Daddy had taught him.

Slashes across breasts.

Crowbar to the biceps to shatter the humerus. Delicious compound fractures increasing the blood leaking from the frail skin. Tearing apart the tattoos that showed her gang affiliation.

Hot poker into the thigh. The wound instantly cauterising but being damn painful. Smell of burning pork making the other captives look more nauseous.

Cut off fingers below the second knuckle on both hands. Three off the left. Two off the right.

Daddy played with a switchblade while Jason used a scalpel to carve a grotesque smile onto her right calf.

A large carving knife stabbed into her lower abdomen. A scream leaving her as it tore through bowel and skin like butter.

Jason stepped back so Daddy could take over. In one hand he held the switchblade, the other held the oxygen mask. He gave both a considering look. Eventually deciding to slip the straps of the mask around his wrist to leave his hand free.

Blood. So much blood. The deep red mixing perfectly with the green of the walls. Both of his boy’s favourite colours. It was clear that the woman wanted the heat of a gun barrel against her temple as the bullet ended her suffering. Joker wasn’t that kind.

Gripping her jaw firmly, he leant into her space. His yellow teeth and red grin making her wish she had the strength to back away. “You know how I got these scars?” He waved the switchblade towards his face. Jason had heard multiple renditions of the answer and waited to see which his father would tell the woman. There was only one story he believed to be true. “I never used to look like this see. I was a handsome man. Women falling for me left and right.”

“You’re still handsome Daddy. You got Mama and had me. You always tell me I’m handsome like you.” Jason cut in. He didn’t like it when Daddy thought his scars made him ugly. _What does that make me, with my branded cheek and scar riddled body from my detox?_

Joker turned fond eyes onto his son. “Thank you, baby. Now, where was I?” He tapped the blade against the woman’s cheek, a flinch flickering across her face. “Ah yes, my scars. Many people were jealous of me. Jealous of old Jackie-boy. With his perfect hair and handsome face. Then the _dark knight_ came to the city. He was jealous too. Wanted me out the way so he could have the attention, you see. So; one night, just before throwing me into a burning vat of chemicals, he took one of his bat knives and slit my mouth into a grotesque Chelsea smile. The wound couldn’t be sewn up fully. Chemicals are funny things.”

Jason bounced on his toes and listened with rapt attention to Daddy. It was the only version he’d heard that ever sounded like the truth. It would make sense that the Bat would want his Daddy to look insane when he was trying to convince the city of their truth.

The switchblade moved as quickly as Joker could make it. The blunt edge meaning he had to saw his way through the soft muscles of the face. A matching Chelsea grin to his own.

As she gasped through the pain, her face screaming at her every time her jaw tried to move, Joker dropped the switchblade and moved onto the mask. He held it to the woman’s face and Jason turned the nozzle on the cylinder.

Green gas. Such beautiful green. Filling the mask and disappearing into the woman. Her laughter started. Mouth tearing open further with the force applied to her cheeks. Silence filling the space once her last breath came.

Baseball bats. Steel pipes. Knives. Potato peelers. Needles. Pliers for fingernails and toenails. Crowbar. Blowtorch. Pokers. Small shovels usually used for cleaning up ash in fireplaces, now utilised as blunt instruments. Scalpels. Mallets. Sledgehammers.

The list of tools and their uses in the hands of Jason and Joker was endless. At one point they even threw water with ice in it over one of the guests and then pressed jumper cables to his collarbones while connected to a car battery. The electricity jolting him back from the brink.

In each case their guests were finished off with Joker’s toxin. He needed to finish the batch off so he could lead the Bat into thinking he’d got an antidote, when he’d secretly changed the recipe again.

Once all five were dead, hours and hours after they’d started. Their bodies looking like mangled heaps rather than the fighting guests they’d been. Joker called on Harley, Grant, Grumpy, Chuckles, and Dopey as the pair needed more manpower for the final part to be completed in the Funhouse.

Oswald Cobblepot was in an interesting mood, his secretary and right hand noticed, that morning. He seemed to have a spring in his step at evading the Bat when he’d had his latest shipment. Sure, he’d lost a few good lieutenants to that bastard clown. Nobody that couldn’t be replaced. It was the nature of the business. He’d also been having a good few nights in the Lounge and was sure to make enough profit that his less that legal money wouldn’t be as obvious.

His secretary was hoping the good mood would continue as they walked into the club. When Cobblepot was in a good mood then everyone under him was safe. That hope lasted right up until they could see the balcony that housed the VIP section.

Hanging from the mezzanine level were five bodies. Each dressed up as different species of penguin; instead of black and white as their major colours though, they had been replaced with purple and green. Makeup covered their faces, clearly applied after they’d died.

“That fucking psychopathic clown! I’m going to murder him. Tear his _family_ apart.” Oswald raged as his secretary vomited beside him. “What! How does he think he can get away with this? Call the police. Let them add this to his list. I want the Bat on this; just so he’s easier to lure out. Going to gut him. Going to string him up by his guts off the Ferris wheel.”

Oswald continued ranting as he marched to his office. Slamming open the door and storming over to his chair. There was a note in the centre, weighed down by some of the fingers. He picked it up and felt dread wash over him as he read it.

_To the distinguished gentleman called Oswald Cobblepot,_

_Please understand that you are the reason your lieutenants died. We tried to be as hospitable to them as you were to my boy. As you can see, we were clearly not as damaging as you were._

_If I EVER find out you spoke to Junior, or denied him anything but the best service if he decides your place is worthy of a night out, then you will end up in a worse state than those of your men we had over for dinner. The same applies to if this note ends up in the hands of the police or Batsy._

_Ta-ta for now. Best wishes and all that._

_The one and only Clown Prince of Crime._

The Penguin screwed up the note and tucked it into his breast pocket. He’d destroy it as soon as the police left. He knew they’d find it otherwise and if there was one thing he valued over everything, it was saving his own hide. There was also no point in retaliating as there was no reasoning with such a madman. It was why he was the top criminal in the city. You couldn’t go against someone who had no reservations or morals, who could get out of any cell and had people everywhere. Best to hand the bodies over to the police and let them handle the lunatic.


End file.
